Suddenly, above the babble of conversation, came Rita Wainwright’s voice.
“Say, girls! I hear Martin brought someone up the drive in his car last night.”
Startled, Andrea set down her cup.
“You don’t say,” someone answered. “Come on, Rita, tell us more. Who was she?”
“I didn’t say it was a ‘she,’ “ said Rita, enjoying being the first to impart such a tasty bit of information.
“Stop fooling, Rita. You wouldn’t have mentioned it if he’d brought a man up. So come on, out with it.”
“Perhaps it was one of the Sisters,” remarked the dark girl absently.
“You’re wrong, Slater. Wilkins wouldn’t have bothered to tell me if it had been one of the Sisters.”
“Wilkins is a gossiping old woman.”
Rita looked down the table. “You can say what you like, Slater, but someone has been doing some pretty fast work. How’d you manage it, Grey?” she called suddenly. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
Andrea’s colour deepened as a dozen pair of envious eyes focussed on her. She was thankful that at the moment the bell was rung for silence.
The Sister’s glance swept over the hundred or so nurses. When she spoke, her thin lips barely moved. First, she called the roll. Then she issued a solemn warning to any nurse who opened a fire escape door for others coming in late.
Finally she announced: “Matron has ordered these changes. Nurse Simmonds to go to Monks ward; Nurse Wood to Theatre; Nurse Slater to Pasteur. That will be all.”
Instantly conversation broke out again as the nurses, in order of seniority, filed out of the huge dining room.
“Where did he take you, Grey?”
“Did he make another date?”
“Lucky you.”
“Not so lucky if Sister Fisher hears about it.”
“Who is Sister Fisher?” Andrea asked one of them hurriedly, ignoring the other questions.
“Fisher? She’s Theatre Sister, and absolutely crazy about Martin, but he just looks on her as part of the fittings. She gets furious if he’s so much as civil to one of the nurses.”
By this time, they were in the long corridor going their separate ways. Virginia Slater hung back and waited for Andrea to catch up with her.
“I’m on your ward this morning, Grey, so we’ll walk along together. The others are way off ahead of us.”
“Thank you. This is only my second day here.”
“Yes, I know. It’s terribly strange at first, but you’ll soon settle down.”
Andrea was thankful that this nurse at least didn’t start asking ridiculous questions about her lift home in the surgeon’s car.
“How long have you been here?” she asked Virginia. “About six months.”
“Oh. Then you won’t be in the same lecture group as I am, will you?”
“No, ‘fraid not,” said the other with a smile. “I start in Physiology today.”
“And I for more Anatomy.”
They walked along in silence for a minute, then Virginia asked: “Are you busy on Pasteur?”
“Fairly—as far as I can judge. There are no empty beds, I can tell you that. I didn’t know whether I was on my head or my heels yesterday.”
Virginia laughed. “Many cases for theatre today? It was my day off yesterday, so I haven’t seen the list.” “Quite a few. One’s an operation on the ear—I can’t remember what it’s called.”
“Mastoidectomy ?”
Andrea smiled. “Yes, that’s it. Then there are two appendicectomies.” She brought the word out proudly, but diffidently. “And several hernias. A thyroidectomy and one or two more that I can’t remember.”
“Hm. Not a bad list. Perhaps Sister will let you go down and see some of them.”
“Down to the theatre?”
Virginia’s eyes twinkled. “Yes. With someone with you, of course. You’ll see the great Mr. Graham at work.” Andrea’s cheeks coloured again. “You know, Nurse Slater, I didn’t go out with him yesterday evening. He gave me a lift when my—friend’s car broke down.”
Virginia looked at her quizzically, then burst out laughing.
Andrea gazed at her incredulously. “Surely you believe me?”
“Oh yes. I believe you all right. But don’t expect anyone else to.”
“Why ever not?”
“You’ll find out. Here we are at Pasteur.”
As soon as the two nurses entered the duty room Andrea was again beseiged with questions, even from the senior nurses, and as Virginia had prophesied, was treated to disbelieving looks when she tried to explain.
By morning break it seemed to Andrea that the whole hospital was discussing her. She appeared to have reached notoriety overnight. She was someone to be envied and treated with respect. Nurses turned their heads to look at her. She heard them whispering about her and groups of nurses, talking, suddenly stopped when she drew near. In Andrea’s opinion, it was a lot of fuss about nothing it was a busy theatre morning on the ward, which left no time for gossip.
After coffee, Sister Hawthorne, the ward sister, said to her, “Nurse Grey, you can be in theatre with me this morning. Watch Staff Nurse give the pre-medications, then take the first patient to the theatre. I will come down shortly afterwards. You’ll have Jones, the porter, with you, and Sister Fisher will tell you what to do until I come. You can stay there until lunch. “Keep your eyes and ears open, Nurse, and learn all you can while you have the chance.”
Feeling rather nervous, Andrea gave out fruit drinks and glucose to the patients on her list. The first operation from this ward was not due until ten-thirty, so she comforted herself with the thought that, by then she would have pulled herself together.
“I’m awfully scared,” she confessed to Virginia as they busied themselves in the sluice room. “Is it usual for anyone as new as I am to see operations?”
“It’s a new idea of Mr. Graham’s and Sister is in full agreement. He wants all new nurses to see the operations as soon as possible.”
“Breaking us in quickly, eh?”
Virginia laughed. “That’s right.” Then more seriously: “But of course, there’s a little more to it than that. If a nurse actually sees what’s done at an operation, she’s less likely to do anything silly—like trying to lift a patient on her own who has had stitches in. There’s less strain on him if two lift.”
“H’m. I see. And what is one expected to do while the operation is going on?”
“Nothing very much except stay by the side of your patient and keep your eyes open. In the anaesthetic room, you’ll see some gowns and masks hanging up. Put one on, then just talk to your patient—reassure him and so forth until the anaesthetist comes to give the “spinal’.”
“Do I have to help with that—the anaesthetic?”
“No. One of the theatre nurses will. When the operation starts, you stay by the patient’s head in case he perspires or gets thirsty or feels any kind of discomfort—he shouldn’t feel any, you know, even though he
is
having an operation.”
“But what if he
does
feel thirsty? Surely he can’t actually have a drink during the operation?”
“No, but on the lower shelf of a trolly in the corner of the theatre you’ll see a feeder of water and a small layer of gauze held in the jaws of a forcep. Dip the forcep and gauze in the water and just moisten the patient’s lips with it. But of course, Sister Hawthorne will show you.”
“Oh, I see. Thank you. You make it all sound tremendously interesting.”
“It is,” smiled Virginia.
“Nurse Slater,” Andrea said then, hesitantly.
“Oh, just call me ‘Slater’ when we’re on duty—and Virginia off, if you like.”
“Oh, thanks a lot. My Christian name is Andrea. I was going to ask—is Mr. Graham as strict and—and severe— and terrible as they say he is?”
This was a question she had been wanting to ask above all others.
“He can be,” Virginia answered. “So for heaven’s sake keep well out of his way. Don’t get within half a mile of his gown, or wander on the side of the table where the instruments are laid out—that is, the sterile side. And don’t
touch
the upper part of the sheet that’s covering the patient. If you want to feel his pulse or anything like that, you put your hand
under
the sheet.”
Half an hour later, having watched a pre-operative drug given, Andrea walked alongside the stretcher on wheels bearing the patient to the operating theatre.
She glanced at the man lying on the gently moving stretcher, now drowsy as a result of his injection. How smoothly everything seemed to run in this great hospital. She was proud, nervous, and apprehensive all at once. Proud to be one of this team of miracle workers, a little nervous in case she should do anything stupid and so incur the wrath of the Theatre Sister, and apprehensive of meeting Martin Graham again. Last night after leaving him, and during this morning, she had tried not to remember how he had drawn her roughly towards him and kissed her so violently. Would he remember when he saw her or had he already dismissed both herself and the incident from his mind? In any case, she comforted herself, he probably won’t even notice me, or if he does, by the time I’ve got my mask on he won’t even recognise me.
The porter wheeled the stretcher into the anaesthetic room which adjoined the theatre and with an inward thrill, Andrea followed.
She pointed to a tall, green door, dramatically closed to intruders.
“Is the operating theatre through there?”
Jones nodded. “Yes. They’re just finishing a double hernia from ‘Harvey.’ He’ll be out in a couple of minutes. I’d get a gown and mask on if I were you, Nurse. Here you are.”
He reached down a white cotton gown from a peg and handed her a linen bag containing gauze masks.
Andrea put on the shapeless gown, struggling a little with the tapes at the back.
“Do I need to put the mask on now, too?”
“You’d be wise to, Nurse. Once that door is opened there’s no time for anything, and if you dare set foot inside there without one on, Sister Fisher will play merry hell.”
“Oh dear.”
Hurriedly, Andrea fixed the gauze over her nose and mouth and tied the tapes behind her head. She felt like a young actress on her first night, dressing to play her part in a great drama and as yet unsure of her lines. Beside an empty trolly, Jones stood with arms nonchalantly folded and the air of one who knew all about it, having played his part a hundred times before.
The patient drowsily opened his eyes, then closed them again.
Then suddenly the door of the theatre was thrust open and Andrea felt the full force of the drama born upon her.
Through the door, in a swirl of steam and bustle, swept Sister Fisher, her mask hanging loosely about her neck.
“Now, Jones, forward with the stretcher—quickly, man!”
Her glance brushed over Andrea as Jones, jerked into action, pushed an empty stretcher into the theatre.
‘‘You’re new, aren’t you?” she demanded of Andrea. “What’s your name and who else from the ward is coming down?”
Stammering a little, Andrea answered both questions, her voice sounding strangely muffled from behind her mask.
“H’m. Well keep out of everybody’s way and on no account touch the sheet or go near the surgeon’s trolly. Careful, Nurse——” to someone inside the theatre— “that isn’t a sack of potatoes you’re handling. Come, Nurse Foster, the warm blanket, where is it? Quickly, quickly, before the patient catches pneumonia. Now Jones, look what you’re doing. Nurse Wood, is the anaesthetic trolly ready for the next case?”
Against a background of pale green walls Andrea caught a glimpse of white clad figures darting quickly to and fro; of the huge shadowless lamp, now directed upon an empty operating table; heard the noise and clatter of instruments and the banging of sterilizer lids as the scene was prepared for the next act.
Then the doors closed again as Jones wheeled the patient out in the corridor and back to a waiting bed.
For a moment Andrea was alone save for her drowsy patient waiting to be given his anaesthetic.
He opened his eyes. “Is it my turn next, Nurse?” he asked sleepily.
Andrea smiled reassuringly. “Yes. How are you feeling ?”
“All right. Just sleepy. This appendix has given me a lot of trouble on and off for years. I shall be glad to get rid of it.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Then she started as the theatre door opened and Sister Fisher came in again.
“Nurse,” she snapped. “Don’t talk to the patient. He should be encouraged to sleep.”
“But—he was just asking me——” Andrea began to protest.
She was cut short by a cold, haughty look.
“Don’t argue with me, Nurse.”
She took a swift look at the man on the stretcher and felt his pulse.
“All right, Nurse Wood,” she called out. “Bring in the anaesthetic trolly.”
The glass trolly was wheeled in and behind Nurse Wood’s white-clad figure walked Martin Graham himself.
He was in his shirt sleeves, which were short, and clumped along in white rubber boots wearing a heavy rubber apron. Andrea’s heart beat nervously. Would he recognize her?
He gave her a sharp look. “Hm. Nurse Grey, isn’t it?” His eyes darted from her to the man on the stretcher, then back again to Andrea.
“Well?” he demanded. “How’s the patient, Nurse? What’s his pulse rate, eh?”
“I — I don’t know,” Andrea stammered, taken aback by the unexpectedness of the questioning. “Sister Hawthorne——”
“Don’t know?” he cut in. “Why not. You’re his nurse. No use waiting for Sister to come and tell you.”
Julia Fisher, who had been standing by wearing a thin, supercilious smile, said smoothly:
“His pulse is quite steady and normal, Mr. Graham.”
He made a silencing gesture. “I’m asking Nurse Grey. It’s her business to know the condition of her patient— whether he’s in a fit state for his operation or not. Well?” he demanded afresh.
Stung into alertness by his manner, Andrea said with sudden inspiration: “He’s quite calm and ready, doctor. He — his appendix has been troubling him for some years and he’ll be only too glad to get rid of it.”